Riv cut a piece of cloth from his garish tie-died robe, and tied a short piece of string to it. Looking at the wall over the doorway, he looked for a good solid beam - the explosive would be screened from anyone looking from below by the wood, but the charge was big enough that the wood would not protect someone standing there, or anywhere in the small cabin. It would burst nicely into a spray of lethal splinters.

Next, he hid the detonator among the firewood nearby the fire, and connected the switch to the string attached to the scrap of cloth. He then covered the string with some of the dirt, ash and sawdust from the fireplace, puttering with it until he was satisified that it would be invisible.

The remote control was nice - no cord to lead them to the charge.

Finally, he partially covered the scrap of cloth to make it look less obvious, but findable after a reasonable search. Ol' OldBoy was a bit emotional, and might simply grab the scrap as evidence of Riv's presence - he had seen him wearing it enough times.

Of course, he could have rigged it to go off the second the door was opened, but that would likely get only one. With it set the way it was, perhaps he could get more. The fact that someone different might find it never really crossed his mind...

And as backup, and before pulling the safetly pin to arm the device, he positioned some of the logs precariously so that if disturbed, they would more then likely press the switch as well. Confident it would not fall between him pulling the pin and getting out of range, he pulled the saftey, armed the detonator, and left the cabin.

"No one mess with the fireplace or the firewood - or boom - you hear?"

Not the best work, but it might get one of the buggers. Maybe.

Riv whistled and went over to look at the old man. He looked at the younger concubines, and said, barely audible, "What a waste...".

Ah, how I have come to love that sense of accomplishment and victory that I get when I pull the wool over the eyes of a clever player character. What DM Triumphs have you had?

Some of mine:1. Finally killing an incredibly powerful, lucky, annoying player's character.2. Finally achieving a TPK (Total Party Kill)3. Finally achieving a TPK using only traps4. Finally working out how to make it so that d**n wizard doesn't steal the spotlight all the d**n time.

Ah, how I have come to love that sense of accomplishment and victory that I get when I pull the wool over the eyes of a clever player character. What DM Triumphs have you had?

Some of mine:1. Finally killing an incredibly powerful, lucky, annoying player's character.2. Finally achieving a TPK (Total Party Kill)3. Finally achieving a TPK using only traps4. Finally working out how to make it so that d**n wizard doesn't steal the spotlight all the d**n time.

"Eight. And, no, Oldboy is a new matter. Some things never change, and these folks have intruded into a private matter between me and Tarag Smith. You see, we were gambling and he reneged on his debt, so of course, his house got toarched to settle accounts. My, what a blaze it made - he must have been stockpiling fuel. Almost got him too, which would have been a bonus.

Well, he is a coward and gathered a whole bunch of friends to swing the debt the other way again. He's the only one with a gun, but there are still a good bunch of em."

Kiph's face had a weird look for a moment, then seemed as if a fog lifted from his eyes. The Fatebringer looked at Riv with an unreadable expression. "It burned?" he asked rhetorically, "It burned, Hahahahahahaha, it burned!"

Riv noticed Ceres looking away and rolling her eyes, and gently shaking her head. The horned goddess was obviously used to Kiph's semi-permanent insanity, by now.

"I like you Riv. Lets kill them" Kiph concluded, then went back to caring for Abak Loett, and watching Ceres attend to the Master with her mysterious medicinal bag.

Ah, how I have come to love that sense of accomplishment and victory that I get when I pull the wool over the eyes of a clever player character. What DM Triumphs have you had?

Some of mine:1. Finally killing an incredibly powerful, lucky, annoying player's character.2. Finally achieving a TPK (Total Party Kill)3. Finally achieving a TPK using only traps4. Finally working out how to make it so that d**n wizard doesn't steal the spotlight all the d**n time.

"Well - we cannot kill everyone, because then, I will be unemployed. You as well, actually. So, let's perpetuate manslaughter, serious injury and outright murder only when it is necessary, and not, say, when it is funny. So, if they catch up with us, and show any intent of interfering with our bodily functions, say, with a knife, then yes, we can kill them all."

She rubbed her forehead, weary and hopelessly out of place.

"But please, abstain from killing anyone just for looking at you funny - with the two of us, I have yet to see a man who would not give us a funny look."

Life was easy for some. Less so for others.

Logged

"Captain, the buttocks are moving from the pink into the red and purple spectrum! We cannot maintain this rate of spanking any longer!"

Ceres approached the sickly Fatebringer Master and quickly opened her doctor’s bag while squatting by his side. She threw a quick look at Kiph and motioned for him to give her some room. She carefully checked his vitals, then studied the wounds he had received from the mutant horrors.

His wounds have become infected again, and there is vomit on his hands. He simply refuse to become better. It must be some sort of poison, but I know nothing of the G’Kraun, ‘cept for the fact that only Loett became this ill. Perhaps they are like ticks, in that only a few carries disease?

Ceres tried to make sense of the situation. Radiation poisoning could not be ruled out, for some of the symptoms were there; nausea, vomiting and infections.

Sighing she wiped a syringe; she did not have that many and reused the few she had. She always remembered to sterilize them though. A quick sting, Loett did not even grunt, and half a dose of healing nanites flowed into his body. Another sting and anti-radiation nanites followed suit.

Kiph and Riv were agitated and Ceres had to hush. Loett bolted upright, heaves racking through his body. All of a sudden he was vomiting everywhere, spilling some on Ceres’ pants and boots, on the silks he laid in, on his shirt, on the ground and even some on Kiphs comforting hands.

**********************

The concubines had carried away most of the equipment and Hertha had ordered Maliphene and Tiana to raise the grand tent in a secluded copse some thousand steps down and north.

Master Loett had been revived, though he looked like a thin ghost and positively reeked of vomit mixed with rose water and sweat. He whispered to Kiph now, the mad apprentice nodding eagerly and crying at the same time. Hertha looked hard on Kiph. The nervous maniac was a far cry from a charmer, actually very few men of the wastes were, but still Tiana seemed to have been smitten with him. She could not for the life of her understand why.

“I feel so weak, Kiph…” the master whispered, tiny droplets of spit escaping his dried lips as he did so. “I do not have the strength to move around. Believe me, those nights in the back of a moving truck was like hell for me”, Abak Loett had that look of resignation in his eyes, a look Kiph had seen before. He did not say it, but the Fatebringer Master expected to die, of that Kiph was certain.

Ceres saw it too, but she was not so sure. The nanites had helped him and might give him a fighting chance. What he needed now was quiet and rest, something she was sure the concubines would provide

**********************“Here it is, Master”, Hertha said, bowing her head in deference to her master. She had handed him a bundle of hides wrapped around a couple of items she knew meant much to her master.

“It is time for you make do without me… I am not sure we will even meet again, Kiph”, Loett said as he handed the deerskin bundle to the crying Fatebringer apprentice.

It took a while and no one spoke, then Kiph opened the bundle with shaking hands. Inside was a pipe, a small tin box, a lighter, a small leather pouch and a stiletto in the black sheath of a Fatebringer Master.

“Kiph, here is what you will inherit from me, your master. My meditation pipe, a pouch of fine tobacco, a tin box with refined Angelic Juice. Not the cheap variant but premium stuff. You will find the side effects are far less severe. And Kiph… The stiletto I got from my master who got it from his. You must give it a name and thus it will become yours – a part of your very soul. When you kill with it, you will know that it is perfection”. The master coughed hard several times, and then looked up at Kiph again.

“You are young and not yet in your prime, but Kiph, you are now a master. Take my ring”, Abak Loett removed a fine golden ring from his inner pocket, “and travel with my blessing. The dagger and the ring will grant you access to the council of Nadeir, though you must find it first. There your voice will be heard, an equal in matters of the council. There you will find resources, allies and a place to rest”.

The master was nearly asleep, but after another bout of coughing he smiled wearily at Kiph and spoke one last time before sleep claimed him. “Nadeir cannot be found. Nadeir will find you. Just you keep the ring and the stiletto. Wear them proudly”.

**********************

Riv looked inside the cargo hold. Everything seemed to be in order. The cabin had been emptied quickly and now they were ready to leave. The booby trap was set, the master and his concubines in hiding and Ceres and Kiph seemed ready to depart as well. The Smith triplets would likely be closer now. Perhaps even now their scout was nearby, approaching hidden and unseen.

What was his name again? Sev… Nev… Yes, Nev! That bastard follows Oldboy like a dog follows his master

But, as dogs go, Nev was good. He knew his trade and was an uncanny tracker and skilled at keeping hidden as well. If Nev died, however, the Smiths wouldn’t stand a chance of tracking him any further. Too bad Nev was cautious, bordering on the paranoid. That was what happened when you listened to the preachings of “Oldboy” for too long, for the firebrand pastor had almost gotten Riv watching under his bed with his tales of hell and eternal punishment. That did not stop the Smiths from wenching and gambling though. No, his preaches were more like visions of hell and the message was that everyone was going, except those that would find salvation at the hands of the lord. And it always came to be, that the lord handed out salvation through his mortal vessel; Oldboy Smith.

<OOC>Ceres - Medicine: SuccessRiv - Mechanical Repair: Not Revealed

Loett falls asleep, but of course: You all have time to ask a couple of questions in between his speech. </OOC>

Ah, how I have come to love that sense of accomplishment and victory that I get when I pull the wool over the eyes of a clever player character. What DM Triumphs have you had?

Some of mine:1. Finally killing an incredibly powerful, lucky, annoying player's character.2. Finally achieving a TPK (Total Party Kill)3. Finally achieving a TPK using only traps4. Finally working out how to make it so that d**n wizard doesn't steal the spotlight all the d**n time.

<OOC> 1. If no one posts within 24 hours, I will assume that you leave the cabin headed for Bleak Wood.2. There are three roads to Bleak Wood: The old interstate (frequented by traders, caravans and outlaws), the mountain track (small and difficult) and through the Bleak Wood proper (marshland road).3. If you do not specify which road you take, I am gonna assume the interstate as it is the fastest</OOC>

Ah, how I have come to love that sense of accomplishment and victory that I get when I pull the wool over the eyes of a clever player character. What DM Triumphs have you had?

Some of mine:1. Finally killing an incredibly powerful, lucky, annoying player's character.2. Finally achieving a TPK (Total Party Kill)3. Finally achieving a TPK using only traps4. Finally working out how to make it so that d**n wizard doesn't steal the spotlight all the d**n time.

Kiph was already behind the wheel, an embodiment of bubbling happines. Ceres thanked her parents that she inherited a rather strong stomach, for his driving was creative at best, insane at worst. Also, the seat belt was not made for her size, meaning that if anything happened, she would be taking flying lessons right through the windshield.

"Riv, I suggest you ride in the back, as to grant you a better field of view and fire. I will sit in the front and ... chastise Kiph about his driving."

Logged

"Captain, the buttocks are moving from the pink into the red and purple spectrum! We cannot maintain this rate of spanking any longer!"

The shanty town was filled with people, probably refugees from Bleak Wood, and as the truck slowed down, Ceres recognized a face in the crowd. His white lab coat was no longer white, but dusty grey and torn, and his glasses had cracked, but it certainly was him: Jonathan, formerly of the Academy of Bleak Wood. Then he was gone, entering a tavern of sorts with a friend wearing the same tattered kind of coat.

The truck hiccupped as Kiph hit the wrong gear, again, and people in front jumped as the huge machine lurched forward, only to halt half a second later. Cursing, Kiph struggled to make it come to life again. Meanwhile Ceres was studying the establishment her friend had entered. It was a building made of Bleak Wood timber and post-war junk like burnt out cars and tin roofing. A huge, hand painted sign read:

***************************In the back, Riv had checked out their supplies. The fuel was running low, that was for sure, and their supply of food was running short as well.

The burning man hippie flipped the lid of his zippo lighter, revealing a small flame. Behind the truck a small crowd was forming, their eyes shining with expectations and curiosity. “Look, it is a truck!” someone cried. No one returned the cry, but there was an eerie silence over the crowd as more and more eyes fell on the army truck.

***************************Meanwhile, at the Mountain Cabin

“This is what the LORD says: ‘See, I will stir up the spirit of a destroyer against Babylon and the people of Leb Kamai’”

The words were shouted, the whisky worn voice peaking as it reached “Babylon”. The black coat of the pastor was grey with dust and sand, but he did not care. Looking around he noticed that his men had completely surrounded the cabin, even now pointing their crossbows at the door and windows.

“Phillip, go you forth and enter the cabin, for the good lord teaches us that it is an eye for an eye, and RIV, it is YOUR TIME to yield an eye now!”

The blonde man known as Phillip gulped and kicked open the door. With frantic desperation he stormed in, firing a quarrel in the process. A chair was knocked down by the force of the bolt and a moment of silence followed.

“It looks to be empty, pastor Smith!”

A moment of silence and soft cursing followed.

“Nev, you find out where they left! Meanwhile we camp here and listen to what the lord has to say!”

Looking at the dirt, Nev nodded and said "I think he is mocking us, your honor!"

<OOC>You do not have to stop at the Shanty Town. If no one posts within 36 hours of this post, I will assume that you did NOT stop and continue driving towards Bleak Wood.</OOC>

"Hit the brakes, Kiph..." Ceres turnd after what she deemed to be an apparition. Jonathan, here? "I saw Jonathan enter the tavern - I insist that we speak to him; it may be important..." What she did not say was that she was concerned about the man she dared to call friend. And, he was her sole link to what knowledge may be still locked away at Bleak Wood.

Gazing at the mob behind them, she added: "We should put up a theatre for them so that they think twice before touching the truck. With the look of them, it should take a while before they are done."

Logged

"Captain, the buttocks are moving from the pink into the red and purple spectrum! We cannot maintain this rate of spanking any longer!"

Blaze actually was not Riv's horse - yet another insult that Riv had laid upon those brothers. Blaze wasn't even his name, not that that mattered to Riv. When the horse became little more then baggage and would slow down their leaving, Riv simply took the horse a little ways away from the cabin and spoke into its ear softly, "Good Horse. Too bad I can't leave you for the Triplets." And quickly he drew his knife across the horse's jugular, standing where the spray would not get him. The horse gave out one whinney then dropped to the ground in shock, the arterial wound killing it quickly.

Once the horse's throws had subsided, Riv carefully removed blanket and saddle.

He said nothing as he threw the gear into the back of the truck.

--------------------------

"s**t, we're stopping in this hellhole." said Riv, after the sudden stop that nearly brained him against the truck.

As she was hopping out of the truck, Ceres turned to Kiph and whispered: "Ask me loudly whether we are going to do something horrible here or.. things. Make it descriptive. Upon it might depend whether you two are attacked while I am inside."

Logged

"Captain, the buttocks are moving from the pink into the red and purple spectrum! We cannot maintain this rate of spanking any longer!"

Jonathan He was thinking, Ceres had spotted that vile little man from Bleakwood. Kiph had not forgotten the man, who ducked out on them at a most inopportune time. He was also thinking of Abak Loett, and his inheritence, the stilleto of 'perfection', the 'dreaming pipe', and most of all, the legacy Abak Loett had imparted on the young, unworthy Fatebringer. The Ring and the Council of Nadeir....Kiph had heard only rumors and whispers, but the words his Master had said to him, were running over and over in his mind now.

But his thoughts would have to wait, Ceres required his assistence.

"There are too many corpses piled in the back already, Deathgoddess!" Kiph continued in a high-pitched straining voice.

"What will you do to them, eh?" he continued, "What you have in mind, may take too long, and their wretched screams will attract the wrong kind of attention. Better to let them live, Great Ceres, they know not what they do..." Kiph's voice trailed off, as he glanced again into the rear view mirror.

"But if you must" Kiph concluded, "Leave me a few for my...experiments. The last one proved amusing when his little dicky caught fire!"

"Remember how he screamed and screamed?" Kiph was warming up now. He even noticed Ceres eyeing him with a 'ok, enough' look, but the Fatebringer was getting rowdy now.

"Aaaaaaaarhgghhh...Nooooooooo...AAAAarhhhhhhhh!!!" He chortled, imitating the screams of an imaginery man.

Ah, how I have come to love that sense of accomplishment and victory that I get when I pull the wool over the eyes of a clever player character. What DM Triumphs have you had?

Some of mine:1. Finally killing an incredibly powerful, lucky, annoying player's character.2. Finally achieving a TPK (Total Party Kill)3. Finally achieving a TPK using only traps4. Finally working out how to make it so that d**n wizard doesn't steal the spotlight all the d**n time.

"They will not have to suffer unless they ewoke my wrath, the unworthy wretches." Ceres leapt out of the truck and let her grind against each other as to emit a screeching noise. Catching a few rays of the sun on her blade before she let it rest again in its sheath, she strode with brisque steps towards the ramshackle building.

"Prime architecture, this one, she muttered as she ducked inside, flashing Kiph a grin.

Logged

"Captain, the buttocks are moving from the pink into the red and purple spectrum! We cannot maintain this rate of spanking any longer!"

Riv kept quiet - he knew his acting was little better then Kiph. However, his shotgun was at hand and he was wearing his portable iron wall that was his armor. Originally designed to protect machine gunners from military rifles, the heavy steel plate would easily stop most crossbows, too bad it was so d**ned heavy.

The d**n back of the truck was a bit confining - he could not really tell what was going on outside except through what he could hear.But if anyone stuck their face in and it was not Riv or Ceres, they would be eating buckshot.

He was thinking about ramming the side of the hull to give the illusion of trapped prisoners, but Kiph said corpses, and that might confuse someone.

Pastor Smith, or Oldboy, but not to his face, ignited the contents of his pipe and leaned back in his chair. It was weed mixed with tobacco and would serve to soothe his aching soul. "Ah, as the good lord himself made it" he said, his head rested against the wall.

"Pastor, brother, there wasn't much of the horse that could be salvaged, but we managed to cut a few pieces that weren't spoiled", the words were spoken by another man, nearly identical with the Pastor, save for his clothes; the man wore hard leather with studs and held a spear in his hands. By his side was another man whose appearance was strikingly similar, this one shrouded in a worn red cloak. The Smith triplets were infamous in some territories, and Oldboy and his siblings had a cultlike following in the Black Marsh Territory. Theirs was a life of banditry and hardship, but they were pious folk and Oldboy's words were considered prophetic.

Inhaling deeply, the pastor nodded, "It will serve us well! The boys are famished and I always get hungry when I smoke", he was grinning; "Prepare a fire, for tonight we fill our bellies, courtesy of Riv!"

From outside the cabin, Phillip cried "and we will personally thank him, tomorrow or the day after that!".

************************

The crowd retreated, their drama seemingly having its intended effect. Noticing their eyes, Ceres wondered whether it was the strange look in Kiph's eyes or their little act that got them pulling back. She put Trolblandir, the largest of her swords, back in its sheath. As she entered the building, one of the guards put his right hand on her chest armor. He was a hairy one, a bushy moustache on his upper lip.

"This is the Dragon's place, lady. Behave while you are here!"

The other one was a bald man, perhaps in his fifties, and he tapped Ceres on the shoulder with the muzzle of his shotgun. "We need people like you down in the pit, lady. If you have any skill whatsoever with that oversized knife of yours, or even with your fists, or horn, we pay our fighters well!"

Then two men caught her attention. Further in, by the bar, sat Jonathan and a friend. Jonathan laughed and soon his friend joined in. They had not noticed her yet, but she noticed that Jonathan had grown a lot thinner since she last saw him.

*******************

Riv did not risk opening the back flap of the army truck. Instead he sat idly by, toying with his lighter and holding his shotgun at the ready. From the sound of it things were quieting down outside.

<OOC>Kiph - Persuade: Skill = 25, but I rolled 30. Too high. However, there is a significant bonus for playing upon your fearsome appearances and using Kiph's obvious madness to your advantage (+20). End result: Success.</OOC>

The Dragon TavernThe place was not as bad as it looked from the outside. Wooden beams were under the ceiling, with oil lanterns suspended from them, placed over each table. Waitors and waitresses wearing naught but loincloth attended the patrons, carrying platters with ceramic jugs of the local brew. Especially "Dragon Spirits" was popular and, according to rumour, the Dragon himself had a still in the back room.

The Pit was a conical well, three meters in diameter (3 yards+) at the bottom, with a rusty old ladder as the only means of access. A theatre of sorts, with benches for the crowd, ringed the well. It was built in levels, allowing everyone to catch glimpses of the fight. At the moment a fight was on, and the crowd screamed and cheered enthusiastically. The pit was, of course, well below floor level and the entire left half of the tavern was occupied by it.

In the middle of the right half was the bar, where Jonathan was seated. While noisy, it was possible to have a drink, a beer or something else there. As Ceres watched, a water pipe was placed on one of the tables. Obviously this was yet another wasteland dive in which drugs were perfectly legal.

***********************

By the truckA sleazy man, slightly overweight with a stained tunic, made his way over to Kiph in the truck.

"Good day, noble sir", he said, "And welcome to Neon"

"I notice you may be in need of some crowd control, something I am willing to help you with"

The man rubbed his hands and nervously licked his upper lip, expectant eyes settling on the FateBringer Nomad.